


Mirror Mirror

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arkham Asylum, Ed Fucks His Reflection, Good Self/Bad Self, Hallucination Fucking, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Mirror On The Wall, Possession, Slight Canon Divergence, Who's The Craziest Of Them All?, body control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: "Ed would sometimes sit in front of the mirror, cross-legged on the floor, and envision a world beyond the glass. A world where he was not incarcerated in this cesspool of insanity. It allowed him a form of release.That was until the mirror started talking."Ed is being tormented by his alter-ego, until he realises that it might be just what he needs. Just how crazy do you have to be to have sex with your own reflection?
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Riddler - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	Mirror Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikazure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikazure/gifts).

The room was small and oppressively grey, without windows. A cast-iron bed sat in one corner opposite a crude metal bucket the staff had the audacity to call a toilet. There were nicer facilities in the rec room, but he only had access to them between two and four pm. Ed’s brain was punctual to a fault, but his bladder seemed less willing to cooperate.

A wooden chest leaned against the far wall, the drawers sparsely stocked with clothes and the meagre possessions Ed had been permitted to request from home – a plastic comb, a spare set of glasses, and a small notebook. He was allowed the use of a pen under supervision, when a nurse could be spared, to ensure he didn’t attempt to harm himself or the other patients.

The hours were long and dull in Arkham. The director’s current mission was to rehabilitate as many of the asylum’s more manageable inmates as possible, since with the increasing chaos in Gotham, cell space was becoming scarce. Ed had been deemed meek and mild enough to be subjected to a more delicate form of treatment. This wasn’t the inhuman therapy inflicted by the likes of Hugo Strange upon the inmates, but instead what Ed could only presume was an attempt to bore him into neutrality.

He was confined to his quarters for twenty hours a day, with two hours rec time and an hour apiece for lunch and dinner. Breakfast was served on a steel tray in his room – a perk for good behaviour, according to the nurse who brought it to him. He couldn’t complain about that – the inmates were at their rowdiest first thing in the morning, and while he could handle them when he chose to, it was becoming more of a chore.

He had access to the prison library once a fortnight and was allowed one book rental during that time. Since he could read most books within the space of a single afternoon, this added to the monotony of the hours. So far, he could practically recite _Frankenstein_, _The Shining_ and _Bridget Jones’s Diary_.

The only other item of interest in the room was a full-length mirror, fixed to the wall opposite the door. With no windows, he would sometimes sit in front of it, cross-legged on the floor, and envision a world beyond the glass, where he was not incarcerated in this cesspool of insanity. It allowed him a form of release, that was until the mirror started talking.

_“Here we are again.”_ The smug smirk of his reflection sent him into instant irritation.

“We’re always going to be here,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Until you leave me _alone_.”

_“I don’t force you to talk,”_ the reflection – the Riddler, he called himself – shrugged.

Ed didn’t confess that without the conversation they shared, he would have gone _legitimately_ insane months ago. He didn’t need to – Riddler knew it, anyway. He watched as his echo leaned back, palms against the floor, and stretched his neck from side to side. There were subtle differences in their appearances, despite sharing the same face and body; Riddler didn’t need glasses, his hair was better groomed, and he always wore an easy expression of casual amusement. Why shouldn’t he; he wasn’t trapped in this hellhole with screaming psychopaths and dangerous thugs. He could watch, unaffected, through Ed’s eyes, and laugh at him later. He knew the doctors recorded every sound in the cells, so all they could hear was a one-sided conversation.

_“To be in it is to not have it,”_ the Riddler quipped. _“What is it?”_

“Sanity.” Ed mimicked Riddler’s position, leaning his head back and staring at the cracked ceiling. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

_“But then we’d miss out on so much quality time,”_ the Riddler pouted. _“You’d miss me.”_

Ed snorted. “Hardly. Without you, I wouldn’t _be_ in here.”

_“And poor Kristin would still be alive. . .”_

Ed scrambled across the floor, nose-to-nose with his gleeful reflection. “Don’t talk about that! I never meant to hurt her—”

_“But you diiiiid,”_ Riddler crooned. _“Don’t you remember how _good_ it felt to carve her up on that slab? How easily her bones split?”_ He moaned deeply, teeth toying with his lower lip, and Ed heard an echoing sound whispering from his own throat. _“You got hard, then.”_

“That— that was not connected! I— severe cases of shock or surprise can trigger all kinds of reactions in the human body—”

_“Shut up,”_ the Riddler spat. _“You can lie to the doctors, to yourself, but you _can’t_ lie to me. I _live_ in here.” _He tapped the side of his head – Ed’s head – with the tip of a long forefinger.

“It was an accident,” Ed desperately repeated the words he’d been saying to the doctors, to the lawyers, to himself.

_“So was your birth,”_ the Riddler retorted. _“But it still happened.”_

Ed leaned his forehead against the cool surface, the top rim of his spectacles tapping against the glass. He was tired of fighting this battle.

_“You need to relax,”_ Riddler said, his voice softening. _“It’s not like you’re gonna be here forever.”_

Ed looked up into the eyes of his mirror image. Were his own eyes that intense? That same shade of hazelnut-brown? “No?”

_“Of course not,”_ Riddler scoffed. _“This is Arkham – inmates break out here more easily than the common cold. Just wait for the right moment.”_

Ed sat back, arms wrapped around his knees. “It’s kinda hard to relax in here.”

As if to prove his point, a shrill scream echoed from one of the neighbouring cells, mercifully muffled through the bricks.

_“You’re too wound up,_” Riddler said. _“You need to release some of that tension.”_

“How?”

A devilish eyebrow arch told him exactly what was on his subconscious’s mind. He watched at the Riddler began to slowly undo the drawstring on his Arkham uniform pants. He felt an unexpected blush fill his cheeks as his reflection lowered the waistband to reveal his fully erect cock. Clearly Ed’s subconscious didn’t believe in underwear.

It was a strange sensation, seeing his own genitals standing to attention when all his clothes were still firmly on. Lowering his pants halfway down his thighs, the Riddler rose to his knees and presented the sight of his cock with a pride Ed certainly didn’t possess himself. Was he really that big? He couldn’t be – he’d have noticed. Probably just another way in which the Riddler was better than pathetic, sub-standard Edward Nygma. He watched as Riddler began to stroke his cock; long fingers wrapped around the rigid shaft, head shiny with pre-come. Something about the dark intensity in the Riddler’s expression held him spellbound, and he obediently lowered his own pants. His cock wasn’t anywhere near as hard or impressive as Riddler’s but after some coaxing, it stood to attention.

_“That’s it_,” Riddler coaxed him, voice low and sultry. _“Show me how to take care of yourself.”_

Ed closed his eyes, his mind searching for some image or memory to help speed the process along. He called up various incarnations of Miss Kringle, trying to remember how it used to feel when he’d watch her, discreetly, from across the GCPD office. When he’d sat outside her home in his car in the hopes of seeing her through the windows. How soft and warm she’d felt when he’d pushed inside her, her small hands clutching his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist. How quickly her skin had grown cold as the life hastened out of her, bruises forming on her neck where his fingers still desperately tried to undo their work, holding her motionless body against his, his tears seeping into her auburn hair. . .

_“No,”_ Riddler’s voice called him back, pulling him out from beneath the crushing weight of guilt threatening to consume him. _“Look at me, Ed. Just look at me.”_

His vision swimming from the memory, Ed forced himself to open his eyes. Riddler was staring fiercely at him, dark eyes burning with a strength Ed was sure he’d never seen in his own gaze.

_“Let go,”_ Riddler murmured. _“Let me in. Let me take control.”_

Ed slowly lowered the walls crowding his mind, the small section still protected by his heart, the part Miss Kringle’s beautiful face had previously occupied. He felt Riddler’s jealous fingers grasp at it, his soul enveloped in a powerful embrace. It was soothing, so much easier to just – let go . . .

His right arm rose, seemingly of its own accord, taking hold of his steadily failing erection and starting to stroke it with a firm grip. It was a true out-of-body experience; Ed could feel his heart beating, feel the hard floor beneath him, but he was merely a marionette being worked by a master puppeteer. He could almost imagine the Riddler’s arms around him, their fingers wound together as he jerked himself off, guiding by someone who knew his body better than he did himself. His mind felt full of smoke, his limbs heavy, the pressure in the pit of his stomach building into a low, simmering heat. He watched himself in the mirror, appreciating the even pumps of his hand, the tension in his arm, the fleeting expressions that crossed the Riddler’s face. At times he was still Riddler – composed, strong – but at others he could see himself; broken and scared, desperate for someone to take control where he felt so powerless.

_“You’re going to come for me, Ed,”_ the Riddler said. It wasn’t a request but a statement.

“Y-yes,” Ed gasped, his glasses sliding down the perspiration on his nose. “Please . . .”

_“Keep your eyes on me,”_ Riddler commanded. _“Don’t you dare look away.”_

“Oh God,” Ed was panting, his arm growing tired from the furious motion. “I’m coming. . . I—”

The floodgates opened and Ed fell forward, slapping his palm on the floor as he spurted thick ropes of come across the hard stone. Taking deep breaths, he pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and lifted his gaze to the mirror. Riddler was sitting calmly, watching him, amused satisfaction plastered across his expression. His cock was still long and hard, even as Ed’s diminished in his palm. He realised he had the use of his body again.

“You . . . you didn’t . . .”

_“Oh, no,”_ a spark of glee shone in Riddler’s dark eyes. _“I saved myself for something . . . else.”_

Then, to Ed amazement and no small amount of horror, Riddler stretched forward his arm and _pushed through_ the surface. Scrabbling backwards across the floor, Ed watched, dumbstruck, as his own long-legged image stepped through the mirror, standing before him as though he were his long-long twin.

“Wh-wha—?” he spluttered, his heart pounding. “That’s not—! _You’re_ not—!”

“Oh, but I am.” The Riddler’s voice no longer had that strange, echoey timbre. He sounded real, solid. Maybe Ed really _was _insane.

“On the bed.” Riddler ordered, pointing towards the sagging single mattress. Ed was so terrified he did as he was told without resistance. Riddler smiled. “Good boy.”

He stepped out of his loose pants and shirt, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor beside the bed. Ed’s gaze travelled down his body – identical to his but driven with infinitely more grace and confidence. He numbly allowed the apparition to undress him, raising his arms when requested, kicking his pants away over the foot of the bed.

“This is gonna feel good, Ed,” Riddler promised. He was kneeling between Ed’s parted legs, his palms fixed on Ed’s trembling knees. “Trust me.”

Leaning down, he licked a broad stripe across Ed’s stomach, his tongue flat against the cool skin. Ed touched the spot with his fingers – they came away dry.

“You . . . you’re just a hallucination,” he said. “You’re in my head.”

“True,” Riddler gently propped Ed’s calves up on his shoulders, elevating his ass off the thin bedsheet. Ed knew where this was going, but was either powerless to stop it, or didn’t want to; he was unwilling to figure out which. “Never had an imaginary friend, Eddie?”

“Don’t call me that,” Ed mumbled. Riddler was hovering over him, hands fixed either side of his shoulders, blocking him in. His body was bent almost double, restricting his breath. Riddler let his legs drop to rest at his hips, crawling up Ed’s body to press their lips together. His mouth was soft and tasting of nothing. Ed’s mind boggled at the notion that he was kissing himself and tried to block the tiny voice telling him how good it felt.

“Let me in, Ed,” Riddler whispered his lips close to Ed’s ear, repeating those same words from before, but with a whole new meaning. “Let me inside.”

Without entirely knowing why, Ed nodded.

The initial intrusion was unpleasant, alien, and Ed did not like it at all. He wriggled in his clone’s embrace, whimpering as he was impaled, inch by painful inch. He accepted the kisses offered by way of compensation, but was relieved when Riddler bottomed out inside him. It couldn’t be this uncomfortable for girls – they’d never let guys near them, otherwise.

“This is just the beginning, sweetheart,” Riddler grinned as he pulled his hips back, the friction making Ed wince. It wasn’t until Riddler snapped back into him that he felt something besides pain; a sharp burst of pleasure that sparked out from somewhere deep inside him. So, the legends were true.

The faster Riddler pulled back and thrust in, the stronger the sparks of bliss became, until the new dulled into the last, and his lower body was singing with it. Guided by his reflection’s hand, he began to stroke his own cock again, his other hand gripped tightly by Riddler’s against the bed. He watched the face above him twitch and gasp, as Riddler felt some of the pleasure he’d bestowed upon his poor, captive host. His thrusts became faster still, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing in the empty room. He pulled Riddler’s face down to his and kissed him again, each Nygma’s tongue sliding against the other’s, neither seeking dominance, lost in how united they felt.

Riddler’s words bled together, words of passion, of possession, telling Ed that nothing and no-one could ever separate them. They were one – Ed and the Riddler. His entire body stiffened as he came, and Ed felt the warm seed spurting inside him. Ed continued tugging at his own cock until he came a second time, the dry orgasm sending spasms shooting through his limbs.

He knew Riddler couldn’t stay. He was only present as long as Ed needed him, and as the waves of oxytocin washed through his body, he knew the purpose of his visit was complete. As the image of his reflection faded from his arms, Ed felt as though he could sleep for a hundred years, like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

So, maybe he was insane.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> As is so often the case, this started with an idea by @mikazure, for she is a mine of fanfic ideas. I am the mere pawn blessed to bring her stories to life! 
> 
> I've been stuck in a case of permanent writer's block with my WIPs for the past year. I don't care if it's begging, comments on my fics really boost my esteem as a writer and help me believe my fics are actually worth writing. So please, help a girl out and leave a comment if you liked this? <3


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